Departure from Koom—Pool-e-DellÂk—DeryÂ-e-Kebeer—Valley of the Shadow of Death—Story of a Ghool—Remarks on Persian Poetry.

From the city of Koom we proceeded to SooltÂneah, where the king was encamped; but I cannot allow my reader to arrive at that place before he has accompanied me to Teheran with the first mission, and heard the account of its reception, and a description of Fettih Ali ShÂh and his court, before these became familiar with envoys and travellers from Calcutta, London, Paris, and St. Petersburgh.

Our first stage towards Teheran was to a place called Pool-e-DellÂk, or the Barber's Bridge; which, according to the tale of those who lived at the village in the vicinity, was built by the barber of ShÂh Abbas the Great, to save others from a danger which he himself narrowly escaped, of being drowned when crossing this river.

This munificent barber, we were informed, was very wealthy, as many of his profession are in Persia. Their skill in shaving the heads and trimming the beards of kings and nobles, though highly prized, is subordinate to that which they display as attendants at the warm bath. It is on their superior address in rubbing, pinching, joint-cracking, and cleansing the human frame at the hummums that their fame is established. The luxury of the bath in Persia is enjoyed by all, from the highest to the lowest. These baths are always good, and often splendid buildings. They are sought by the lower classes as essential to health in persons who seldom wear, and when they do, seldomer change their under garments. The higher ranks indulge in them to still greater excess, and in their progress through the various apartments of graduated heat, from the outer saloon to the houz or fountain of the inner bath, they are waited upon by different domestics, who, besides aiding to undress and dress them, serve them with every species of refreshment. Among these attendants the man of most consequence is the dellÂk or barber. For he who has the honour to bathe and shave a king must not only be perfect in his art, but also a man altogether trustworthy; and confidence amongst eastern rulers is usually followed by favour, and with favour comes fortune. This accounts for barbers building bridges in Persia!

I was one day speaking to my friend Meerz Aga of the munificence of the barber of the great Abbas, in a manner which implied doubt of the fact. He observed he knew not whether the barbers of the Seffavean monarchs built bridges, but "I do know," he said, "that the KhÂsterÂsh (literally personal shaver) of our present sovereign has, in the abundance of his wealth, built a palace for himself close to the royal bath at Teheran. Then," said the good MeerzÂ, "he is entitled to riches, for he is a man of pre-eminent excellence in his art, and has had for a long period under his special care the magnificent beard of his majesty, which is at this moment, and has been for years, the pride of Persia."

"Well," I replied, "if your personal shaver has built such a mansion, I will no longer doubt the wealth of the barber of ShÂh Abbas, for that monarch, though he wore no beard, had, we are told by travellers, and observe from paintings, a noble pair of mustachoes, of which he is said to have been very proud; and the trimmer of which no doubt was, as he deserved to be, a great favourite."

This conversation led to a long dissertation on mustachoes and beards, upon which subject my travels to countries that my Persian friends had never seen enabled me to give them much useful information.

I told them many stories about the Sikhs, a nation dwelling between the territories of Cabool and India, who, devoting their beards and whiskers to the goddess of destruction, are always prompt to destroy any one who meddles with them; and who, from a combined feeling of religion and honour, look upon the preservation of life itself as slight in comparison with the preservation of a hair of their beards.

I next informed them how beards, whiskers, and mustachoes were once honoured in Europe. I told them an anecdote of the great John De Castro, a former governor of Goa, the capital of the Portuguese possessions in India. He being in want of a considerable loan from the citizens of Goa for a military expedition, was at a loss for an adequate security[103]. His first intention was to pledge the bones of his gallant son Don Fernando, who had recently fallen in battle; but finding, on opening the grave, that the carcass was putrid, he offered, as next dear to his personal honour, a lock of his cherished mustachoes. This security was accepted, but immediately returned with more than the amount required; young and old vying with each other who should show most respect to so valuable a pledge.

The Persians of my audience twisted their mustachoes with a combined feeling of pleasure and pride on hearing this testimony to the value of that ornament of the visage; and Khan SÂhib, who was one of the party, said to me with a smile, "You gentlemen with the mission wear mustachoes in compliance with the prejudices of the Persians; but is it true that many officers of your cavalry now wear them, and that they are again likely to become popular in England?" I said, perhaps they might; adding, I had no doubt that would be the case, if there appeared the slightest chance of their ever turning to account in the money-market, like those of John de Castro.

But I must quit this curious and interesting subject to proceed with my narration. At Pool-e-DellÂk the Elchee received letters from the prime minister Hajee Ibrahim, congratulating him upon his near approach to the capital. "My house," the Hajee wrote, "is assigned for your residence; and I am to be honoured by having you as my guest as long as you remain at the abode of sovereignty."

The minister also addressed letters to the mehmandar and to the secretaries of the Elchee, to inquire the exact time of his intended entry into Teheran, and to learn the hours at which he took his meals, the dishes of which he was fondest, and every other minute particular that could enable him to perform the task he had undertaken to his own satisfaction and that of the king, whom he represented as very anxious that every thing should be done to honour and please the British representatives.

From the Barber's Bridge to our next stage was nearly fifty miles. We crossed a salt desert,[104] which Hajee Hoosein informed me, as he handed me the long snake of the kelliÂn, was once a sea; but at the birth of Mahomed it dried up, and thus became one of the many miracles to testify the importance to the world of that auspicious event.

The change of surface, from a crust of white clay impregnated with salt, to a stony plain, indicated that we had passed the desert. We immediately afterwards came to a rugged and broken road, through the most frightful precipices and ravines I had ever seen. "I wish these ravines had been made smooth at your prophet's birth," I said to my friend the Hajee, who continued riding along with me. "Here also," said he, in a half alarmed voice, "a miracle was effected, but it was not completed. This dreadful place is called the 'Valley of the Angel of Death.'[105] That terrific minister of God's wrath, according to tradition, has resting-places upon the earth, and this is one of his favourite abodes. He is surrounded by ghools, horrid beings, who, when he takes away life, feast upon the carcasses.

"The natural shape of these monsters," said Hajee Hoosein, "is terrible; but they can assume those of animals, such as cows or camels, or whatever they choose, often appearing to men as their relations or friends, and then they do not only transform their shapes, but their voices also are altered. The frightful screams and yells, which are often heard amid these dreaded ravines, are changed for the softest and most melodious notes; unwary travellers, deluded by the appearance of friends, or captivated by the forms, and charmed by the music, of these demons, are allured from their path, and after feasting for a few hours on every luxury, are consigned to destruction.

"The number of these ghools," said the Hajee, "has greatly decreased since the birth of the prophet, and they have no power to hurt those who pronounce his name in sincerity of faith. But, what is that?" said he, spurring his horse, and upsetting the top of the kullean which he had in his hand, while he repeated aloud the name of Mahomet, which now resounded through the line. I was myself not a little startled at seeing a camel, which is one of the shapes the ghools take, but found, on recovering from my momentary alarm, that it was one of our own, which, trying to pass a little to the right of our path, had fallen over a precipice with its load.

When the Hajee rejoined me, he was far from being convinced that the camel which had fallen was the same he had at first seen. "It was probable," he said, "that a ghool, by the shape he assumed, had enticed our animal to follow him, and the latter would certainly have been lost but for my presence of mind and timely exclamations. These creatures," he added, "are the very lowest of the supernatural world, and, besides being timid, are extremely stupid, and consequently often imposed upon by artful men. I will recount you," he said, "a story that is well authenticated, to prove that what I say is just." I told him I was all attention, and he commenced his tale.

"You know," said he, "that the natives of Isfahan, though not brave, are the most crafty and acute people upon earth, and often supply the want of courage by their address. An inhabitant of that city was once compelled to travel alone at night through this dreadful valley. He was a man of ready wit, and fond of adventures, and, though no lion, had great confidence in his cunning, which had brought him through a hundred scrapes and perils that would have embarrassed or destroyed your simple man of valour.

"This man, whose name was Ameen Beg, had heard many stories of the ghools of the 'Valley of the Angel of Death,' and thought it likely he might meet one. He prepared accordingly, by putting an egg and a lump of salt in his pocket. He had not gone far amidst the rocks we have just passed, when he heard a voice crying 'Holloa, Ameen Beg IsfahÂnee! you are going the wrong road, you will lose yourself; come this way; I am your friend Kerreem Beg; I know your father, old Kerbela Beg, and the street in which you were born.' Ameen knew well the power the ghools had of assuming the shape of any person they choose; and he also knew their skill as genealogists, and their knowledge of towns as well as families; he had therefore little doubt this was one of those creatures alluring him to destruction. He, however, determined to encounter him, and trust to his art for his escape.

"'Stop, my friend, till I come near you,' was his reply. When Ameen came close to the Ghool, he said, 'You are not my friend Kerreem, you are a lying demon, but you are just the being I desired to meet. I have tried my strength against all the men and all the beasts which exist in the natural world, and I can find nothing that is a match for me. I came therefore to this valley in the hope of encountering a ghool, that I might prove my prowess upon him.'

"The Ghool, astonished at being addressed in this manner, looked keenly at him, and said, 'Son of Adam, you do not appear so strong.' 'Appearances are deceitful,' replied Ameen, 'but I will give you a proof of my strength. There,' said he, picking up a stone from a rivulet, 'this contains a fluid; try if you can so squeeze it, that it will flow out.' The Ghool took the stone, but after a short attempt returned it, saying 'the thing is impossible.' 'Quite easy,' said the IsfahÂnee, taking the stone and placing it in the hand in which he had before put the egg: 'Look there!' and the astonished Ghool, while he heard what he took for the breaking of the stone, saw the liquid run from between Ameen's fingers, and this apparently without any effort.

"Ameen, aided by the darkness, placed the stone upon the ground while he picked up another of a darker hue. 'This,' said he, 'I can see contains salt, as you will find if you can crumble it between your fingers;' but the Ghool looking at it confessed he had neither knowledge to discover its qualities, nor strength to break it. 'Give it me,' said his companion impatiently, and having put it into the same hand with the piece of salt, he instantly gave the latter all crushed to the Ghool, who seeing it reduced to powder, tasted it, and remained in stupid astonishment at the skill and strength of this wonderful man. Neither was he without alarm lest his strength should be exerted against himself, and he saw no safety in resorting to the shape of a beast, for Ameen had warned him, that if he commenced any such unfair dealing, he would instantly slay him; for ghools, though long-lived, are not immortal.

"Under such circumstances he thought his best plan was to conciliate the friendship of his new companion, till he found an opportunity of destroying him.

"'Most wonderful man,' he said, 'will you honour my abode with your presence; it is quite at hand: there you will find every refreshment; and after a comfortable night's rest you can resume your journey.'

"'I have no objection, friend Ghool, to accept your offer; but mark me, I am, in the first place, very passionate, and must not be provoked by any expressions which are in the least disrespectful; and in the second, I am full of penetration, and can see through your designs as clearly as I saw into that hard stone in which I discovered salt; so take care you entertain none that are wicked, or you shall suffer.'

"The Ghool declared that the ear of his guest should be pained by no expression to which it did not befit his dignity to listen; and he swore by the head of his liege lord, the Angel of Death, that he would faithfully respect the rights of hospitality and friendship.

"Thus satisfied, Ameen followed the Ghool through a number of crooked paths, rugged cliffs, and deep ravines, till they came to a large cave, which was dimly lighted. 'Here,' said the Ghool, 'I dwell, and here my friend will find all he can want for refreshment and repose.' So saying, he led him to various apartments, in which were hoarded every species of grain, and all kinds of merchandise, plundered from travellers who had been deluded to this den, and of whose fate Ameen was too well informed by the bones over which he now and then stumbled, and by the putrid smell produced by some half consumed carcasses.

"'This will be sufficient for your supper, I hope,' said the Ghool, taking up a large bag of rice; 'a man of your prowess must have a tolerable appetite.' 'True,' said Ameen, 'but I eat a sheep and as much rice as you have there before I proceeded on my journey. I am, consequently, not hungry, but will take a little lest I offend your hospitality.' 'I must boil it for you,' said the demon; 'you do not eat grain and meat raw, as we do. Here is a kettle,' said he, taking up one lying amongst the plundered property. 'I will go and get wood for a fire, while you fetch water with that,' pointing to a bag made of the hides of six oxen.

"Ameen waited till he saw his host leave the cave for the wood, and then with great difficulty he dragged the enormous bag to the bank of a dark stream which issued from the rocks at the other end of the cavern, and after being visible for a few yards disappeared under ground.

"How shall I, thought Ameen, prevent my weakness being discovered; this bag I could hardly manage when empty, when full it would require twenty strong men to carry it; what shall I do? I shall certainly be eaten up by this cannibal Ghool, who is now only kept in order by the impression of my great strength. After some minutes' reflection, the IsfahÂnee thought of a scheme, and began digging a small channel from the stream, towards the place where his supper was preparing.

"'What are you doing?' vociferated the Ghool, as he advanced towards him; 'I sent you for water to boil a little rice and you have been an hour about it. Cannot you fill the bag and bring it away?' 'Certainly I can,' said Ameen. 'If I were content, after all your kindness, to show my gratitude merely by feats of brute strength, I could lift your stream if you had a bag large enough to hold it; but here,' said he, pointing to the channel he had begun, 'here is the commencement of a work in which the mind of a man is employed to lessen the labour of his body. This canal, small as it may appear, will carry a stream to the other end of the cave, in which I will construct a dam that you can open and shut at pleasure, and thereby save yourself infinite trouble in fetching water. But pray let me alone till it is finished,' and he began to dig. 'Nonsense,' said the Ghool, seizing the bag and filling it; 'I will carry the water myself, and I advise you to leave off your canal, as you call it, and follow me, that you may eat your supper and go to sleep; you may finish this fine work if you like it to-morrow morning.'

"Ameen congratulated himself on this escape, and was not slow in taking the advice of his host. After having eat heartily of the supper that was prepared, he went to repose on a bed made of the richest coverlets and pillows, which were taken from one of the store-rooms of plundered goods. The Ghool, whose bed was also in the cave, had no sooner laid down than he fell into a sound sleep. The anxiety of Ameen's mind prevented him from following his example: he rose gently, and having stuffed a long pillow into the middle of this bed, to make it appear as if he were still there, he retired to a concealed place in the cavern to watch the proceedings of the Ghool. The latter awoke a short time before daylight, and rising, went, without making any noise, towards Ameen's bed, where not observing the least stir, he was satisfied that his guest was in a deep sleep, so he took up one of his walking sticks, which was in size like the trunk of a tree, and struck a terrible blow at what he supposed to be Ameen's head. He smiled not to hear a groan, thinking he had deprived him of life; but to make sure of his work, he repeated the blow seven times. He then returned to rest, but had hardly settled himself to sleep, when Ameen, who had crept into the bed, raised his head above the clothes and exclaimed, 'Friend Ghool, what insect could it be that has disturbed me by its tapping? I counted the flap of its little wings seven times on the coverlet. These vermin are very annoying, for though they cannot hurt a man, they disturb his rest!'

"The Ghool's dismay on hearing Ameen speak at all was great, but that was increased to perfect fright when he heard him describe seven blows, any one of which would have felled an elephant, as seven flaps of an insect's wing. There was no safety, he thought, near so wonderful a man, and he soon afterwards arose and fled from the cave, leaving the IsfahÂnee its sole master.

"When Ameen found his host gone, he was at no loss to conjecture the cause, and immediately began to survey the treasures with which he was surrounded, and to contrive means for removing them to his home.

"After examining the contents of the cave, and arming himself with a matchlock, which had belonged to some victim of the Ghool, he proceeded to survey the road. He had, however only gone a short distance when he saw the Ghool returning with a large club in his hand, and accompanied by a fox. Ameen's knowledge of the cunning animal instantly led him to suspect that it had undeceived his enemy, but his presence of mind did not forsake him. 'Take that,' said he to the fox, aiming a ball at him from his matchlock, and shooting him through the head; 'take that for your not performing my orders. That brute,' said he, 'promised to bring me seven ghools, that I might chain them, and carry them to Isfahan, and here he has only brought you, who are already my slave.' So saying, he advanced towards the Ghool; but the latter had already taken to flight, and by the aid of his club bounded so rapidly over rocks and precipices, that he was soon out of sight.

"Ameen having well marked the path from the cavern to the road, went to the nearest town and hired camels and mules to remove the property he had acquired. After making restitution to all who remained alive to prove their goods, he became, from what was unclaimed, a man of wealth, all of which was owing to that wit and art which ever overcome brute strength and courage."

I was pleased with this tale, first as it bore so near a resemblance to some parts of my earliest favourite, Jack the Giant Killer; and next as the last incident of the fox bringing back the Ghool was an exact copy of the story of the Goat and the Lion in the celebrated Hindu work, the Pancha Tantra.

The goat, according to the Hindu tale, took shelter during a storm in the den of a lion; when he saw no chance of escape, he terrified the king of the beasts by boasting of a celestial origin, and telling him he had been condemned before he could return to Heaven to eat ten elephants, ten tigers, and ten lions. He had, he said, eaten every kind of animal but the lion; and saying this, he marched up to the astonished monster, who fled by a back way from his den. The lion in his flight met a fox, and described to him the appearance of the goat (an animal he had never seen before), his horns, his strange beard, and above all, his boasting language. The fox laughed, and told his majesty how he had been tricked. They went back together, and met the goat at the entrance of the den. The latter at once saw his danger, but his wits did not forsake him. "What conduct is this, you scoundrel?" said he to the fox: "I commanded you to get ten lions, and here you have only brought me one;" so saying, he advanced boldly, and the lion, again frightened by his words and actions, fled in terror, allowing the goat to return quietly to his home.

I narrated this story to my Persian friend, saying, "This proves to me what I have long conjectured, that the greater part of your tales are taken literally from the Hindus." "Is it not as likely they have been stolen from us?" was his reply. "No," said I; "for their works in which these tales are written are much older than any you have." "That may be," said he, "but they are not older than Keiomerth, Housheng, or Jemsheed. These were the glorious days of Persia, and no doubt it was in their time the wily Hindus stole our stories; and if our conquering swords have since made us masters of India, and we have plundered a few tales along with other articles, why we have only recovered our own."

Khan SÂhib, who had been riding along with us, smoking his kelliÂn, but who had not as yet spoken a word, now, with much gravity, took up the conversation. "I have listened," said he, "with great attention to Hajee Hoosein's most wonderful tale of the Ghool, and," addressing me, "to your supplement about a goat, a fox, and a lion. I shall store what I have heard in my memory for the benefit of my excellent grandmother, whom it is my duty to amuse. These tales shall also be given word for word to my little children, who will no doubt be as much delighted as I have been, to hear how a stupid monster was outwitted by a lying rogue, and how an impudent goat frightened a valiant lion."

"The dispute," said Khan SÂhib, "regarding the invention of such sublime productions, no doubt involves matter deeply associated with the fame of the renowned empires of India and Persia; and, in the present dearth of that article, I do think they are right in claiming all they can for their ancestors."

"I quite understand, my good friend," said I, "the contempt you bestow upon the nursery tales with which the Hajee and I have been entertaining each other; but, believe me, he who desires to be well acquainted with a people will not reject their popular stories or local superstitions. Depend upon it, that man is too far advanced into an artificial state of society who is a stranger to the effects which tales and stories like these have upon the feelings of a nation; and his opinions of its character are never likely to be more erroneous than when, in the pride of reason, he despises such means of forming his judgment."

"Well, well," said Khan SÂhib, "there may be some truth in what you say; and I am the more inclined to believe it, as all the learning and philosophy which my good father endeavoured to instil into me never wholly eradicated my early predilection for such stories. I wish not to dispute the claim of our Indian neighbours to the merit of inventing those maxims of wisdom, which have been delivered to posterity through the mouths of cats, monkeys, goats, parrots, foxes, jackalls, and lions. But," added he, "as far as the reputation of the creative genius of Persia is concerned, I shall remain content with the wonders of the ShÂh-nÂmeh, told as they are in the language of the immortal Firdousee."

Though I could not give up my fondness for fables, I was quite ready to concur with my friend in his admiration of Firdousee, and nothing more was necessary to make him dilate upon this favourite work. His memory is extraordinary; and while I listened with pleasure to his recitation of several of the most ancient, and at the same time most beautiful passages of Persian poetry, I was instructed by his critical remarks, for he combines, with a knowledge of the European taste for simplicity, a love for Asiatic splendour of diction; and is particularly versed in those allusions in which their poetry abounds. He recited to me, from the ShÂh-nÂmeh, the greater part of the episode of the combats between Roostem and his unknown son SoohrÂb.

This episode, in the first lines of which the poet tells his reader, "It is a tale full of the waters of the eye,"[106] is perhaps one of the greatest efforts of Firdousee's genius; and he rises even above himself in the relation of the death of SoohrÂb and the insanity of his distracted mother.

The effect produced on the unhappy princess by the account of her son's death is instantaneous. She sets fire to her palace, desiring, when he who constituted her sole object in life was gone, to perish amid that splendour, which she salued on his account alone. Torn from the flames by her attendants, she commanded them to bring the body of her son, his horse, his arms, and his clothes.

"She kissed the horse's forehead, she bathed its hoofs with her tears; she clothed herself in the blood-stained garments of her son, she drew his bow, she wielded his lance, his sword, and his mace; and these fond and frantic actions were continued till nature was overpowered, and the distracted mother departed to join her beloved SoohrÂb."

No translation in verse can convey to the mere English reader any just impression of the whole poem of the ShÂh-nÂmeh. The idiom in which it is written, and the allusions and metaphors with which it abounds, are too foreign to our language and taste to admit of success in such an undertaking; but a prose translation of this great work is a desideratum, and select passages might bear a poetical form. He, however, who attempts such a task, will not be successful unless possessed of a genius that raises him above the mechanical effort of a versifier. If ever such a translator devote himself to the beauties of this poem, he will find much to gratify himself and others.

I have before given a specimen of Firdousee's power in describing a battle; but though this is a species of composition in which the Persians consider him to excel, I have been more pleased with him when he strikes a softer and more harmonious note. His tales of love are often delightful, and nothing can exceed some of his descriptions of scenery.

I had long entertained this opinion, but was confirmed in it by a passage which Khan SÂhib recited to me, after concluding the story of SoohrÂb. It was an account of the events which took place when SiyÂvesh was nominated by AfrÂsiÂb to govern the empire of Cheen. The young prince, anxious to enjoy with his beautiful bride Feeringheesh every luxury which this world could afford, sent persons in every direction over his extensive territories, to select the most agreeable and salubrious spot, that he might there fix his residence. The choice fell upon the city of Kung, which is represented to be a perfect terrestrial paradise. One line in the description of this favoured spot struck me as an instance of the power of a poet to seize the finest shades of distinction that belong to language, and to convey by such terms the most correct idea to the mind. Speaking of the climate of Kung, Firdousee says,

I expressed to Khan SÂhib my admiration of this line, adding my regret that a poet who could write with such simplicity and beauty should indulge so often in forced metaphor, and hyperbolical phrases.

"Why," said my little friend, "I really think your quarrelling with Firdousee, because he wrote according to the taste of the nation to which he belonged, is something like finding fault with the Persians because they do not wear cocked hats and tight pantaloons, instead of lamb's-wool caps and loose trowsers. They delight, and ever have done, in those conceits and images which offend you." "But yet," said I, "SÂdee is a great favourite, and he is almost always simple and clear in his style."

"SÂdee," said Khan SÂhib, "has, as you state, a great reputation in Persia, but it is rather as a wise man and a moralist, than a poet. He seeks by fiction to adorn, not encumber truth; and the admiration of his reader is invariably given to the sentiment more than to the language in which it is clothed.

"As a proof," continued my friend, "that this is just, let us take two stanzas. In the first of these SÂdee thus describes himself:

In these lines, marked as they are by simplicity and beauty, the thought, not the expression, is what we most admire. In the second, when addressing sovereigns, he says,

The boldness and sublimity of the lesson conveyed in this couplet predominates over the poetry, and this is the case throughout the works of SÂdee. How different are the sweet and musical strains of HÂfiz! whose whole fame rests upon the creative fancy of his imagination, and the easy flow of his numbers. He delights us by the very scorn with which he rejects all sobriety of thought, and all continuity of subject. As a poet he is one of the first favourites of his countrymen, whose enthusiastic admiration is given to passages in his works that your taste would condemn; for instance, when referring to the fiction which relates that the tulip first sprung up in the soil which was moistened with the blood of FerhÂd, the celebrated lover of Sheereen, he says,

"No conceit can be more fanciful, and you will perhaps add, more extravagant; but this stanza is most particularly admired by the Persians, much more so than a succeeding one in the same ode, where the poet, with a simplicity and feeling that will delight you, gives the reason for not having left his native place.

"HÂfiz," said Khan SÂhib, "has the singular good fortune of being alike praised by saints and sinners. His odes are sung by the young and the joyous, who, by taking them in the literal sense, find nothing but an excitement to pass the spring of life in the enjoyment of the world's luxuries; while the contemplative sage, considering this poet as a religious enthusiast, attaches a mystical meaning to every line, and repeats his odes as he would an orison. At the time of his death," continued my friend, "there were many who deemed his works sinful and impious. These went so far as to arrest the procession of his funeral. The dispute rose high, and the parties were likely to come to blows, when it was agreed that a fÂl, or lot, should be taken from his book. If that were favourable to religion, his friends were to proceed; but if calculated to promote vice, they promised not to carry his body to the sacred ground appropriated for its reception.

"The volume of odes was produced, and it was opened by a person whose eyes were bound, seven pages were counted back, when the heaven-directed finger pointed to one of his inspired stanzas,

"The admirers of the poet shouted with delight, and those who had doubted joined in carrying his remains to a shrine near Shiraz, where, from that day to this, his tomb is visited by pilgrims of all classes and ages."

I found my friend Khan SÂhib, however partial from his habits to a literal interpretation of many passages, dwelt upon others that he deemed mystical with all the rapture of a Soofee. I asked him if he considered HÂfiz equal in this description of poetry to the celebrated author of the Mesnevee, who is usually called the MoollÂh of Room?[113] "Certainly not," was his reply; "there is a depth and sublimity in the Mesnevee, which is equalled by no poet of this class. But I will repeat, in answer to your question, the observation of a famous Persian critic.

"A friend asked him how it happened that the two most celebrated Persian Soofee poets should differ so much in their description of love? HÂfiz, in the commencement of his work, observes:

The author of the Mesnevee, in exact opposition, says,

"'Poor HÂfiz,' said the critic, shaking his head, 'did not find out till the last, what the wiser MoollÂh saw at a glance.'"

I was proceeding to make some further observations, when the sound of music and the appearance of the neighbouring villagers with their chiefs announced that we were near our encampment, and both Khan SÂhib and myself were obliged to take our places in the order of march, which was always formed when we met such parties.